GIFT  OF 


YET  SPEAKETH  HE 


BY 
GERTRUDE  CAPEN  WHITNEY 


BOSTON 

SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 
1910  :..; :/: :  "' 


Copyright,  1910 
SHERMAN  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 


XT 


TO 

MRS.  N.  L.  WILLET 

WHOSE  MUSIC  LIVES  IN  THE  LIVES 
OF  THOUSANDS  AS  SHE  TEACHES  THE 
PRINCIPLES  OF  GOD  THROUGH  SOUND 


CHAPTER  ONE 

The  clanging  of  the  great  bell  re- 
verberated through  the  palpitating 
air,  and  the  operatives  of  the  cotton 
mill  oozed  out  from  the  building  as 
sluggish  water  drains  through  the 
muck  that  serves  to  obstruct  its  on- 
ward flow. 

From  the  opposite  direction,  over 
the  high  bridge,  with  a  semblance  of 
the  vitality  supposed  to  belong  to 
childhood,  came  running  a  baby  girl 
to  meet  her  mother,  one  of  the  out- 
comers  from  the  mill.  It  had  been 
raining,  and  as  the  little  one's  flying 
feet  left  the  wood  work  of  the  bridge 
they  slipped  upon  the  slimy  clay. 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

Down  the  steep  declivity  she  spun 
into  the  turgid  water  of  the  canal. 

Then  from  the  ranks  shot  forth 
the  stuff  of  which  heroes  are  made. 
A  tall,  lithe  fellow  distanced  the 
crowd  by  bounds  and  leaped  into  the 
stream. 

But  the  race-way  was  not  far  off, 
and  seething  torrents  cf  water  were 
pouring  down.  He  struggled  fruit- 
lessly, and  sank  at  last  with  the  baby 
in  his  arms,  to  sleep  in  the  ochre- 
colored  bed  which  nature  provided 
beneath  the  waves  for  her  beloved 
who  had  given  his  life  for  another. 

Thence  the  two  were  taken,  in  pity 
and  in  love,  later  in  the  day.  Soon 
the  green  earth  covered  them  with 
its  emerald  turf,  and  a  rough  slab 
of  stone,  with  a  bronze  plate  com- 
[2] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

memorating  the  deed,  was  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  perilous,  twisting 
path  beyond  the  bridge,  where  the 
baby  fell  and  the  young  man  gave 
up  his  life.  A  gaunt  and  ugly  monu- 
ment it  was, — an  unshaped  boulder 
turned  on  end,  distorted  in  its  angu- 
larities to  the  average  onlooker,  but 
to  the  frail  twelve-year-old  little 
brother  of  the  child  strangely  like  a 
hand  with  blunt  finger  pointing  sug- 
gestively upwards. 

He  had  been  turned  out  of  the 
mill  because  an  unusually  careful  in- 
spector had  seen  in  him  signs  of  the 
great  white  plague,  too  apparent  not 
to  arouse  alarm  in  the  minds  of  the 
other  workers,  who  were  being  inoc- 
ulated with  the  virus  of  fear,  for  all 
the  world  as  dangerous  as  ever  the 
plague  itself  could  be. 
[3] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

And  so  the  child  came  often  to 
view  the  spot  where  the  great 
tragedy  was  enacted,  and  to  medi- 
tate, as  many  children  do,  upon  the 
mystery  of  life. 

"He  gave  up  his  life  for  Essie," 
he  thought,  watching  the  ugly  stone 
by  the  side  of  the  dusty  road,  "Then 
where  has  that  life  gone?  Not  into 
Essie,  for  Essie  is  dead  too,"  and  he 
haltingly  puzzled  out  the  words  on 
the  bronze  plate,  for  he  was  of  better 
stock  than  some,  and  could  read  and 
write,  though  only  after  a  sorry 
fashion. 

"  'Greater  love  than  this  hath  no 
man,  that  he  give  up  his  life  for  his 
friend,' '  he  deciphered  slowly. 
"But  if  he  has  given  it  up  it  must  be 
somewhere.  Where  is  it?"  he  pon- 
dered. 

[*] 


YET  SPEAKETH  HE 
Suddenly  there  came  to  his  mind 
in  a  wholly  disconnected  way  some 
words  he  had  heard  at  the  mission 
Sunday  School,  and  as  he  repeated 
the  question,  "Where  is  his  life?"  and 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  cold,  bare 
stone,  the  words  seemed  to  echo  in 
his  ears,  "Which  being  dead,  yet 
speaketh." 

"This  is  his  voice,"  he  exclaimed, 
convincingly.  "He  is  trying  to  speak 
through  the  stone.  As  long  as  it 
stands  here,  that  man's  deed  speaks 
to  those  who  pass.  He  gave  his  life, 
so  it  still  must  live.  I  am  going  to 
help  it  speak  more  beautifully  than 
it  does  now." 

Strange  philosophy  for  a  young 
mill  boy  of  twelve?    Nay,  thoughts 
are  free  to  all;  in  all  hearts  the  seed 
[5] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

is  sown;  in  some,  thought  grows  to 
leaf  and  flower  and  fruit. 

Amardo,  for  such  was  this  strange 
child's  name,  began  that  day  to  work 
out  his  promise  to  help  bring  to 
recognition  in  the  world's  conscious- 
ness the  life  that,  because  given  for 
another,  still  lived  somewhere;  that 
it,  speaking,  might  impel  the  care- 
less world  to  realize  who  it  was 
which,  being  dead,  yet  spake,  and: 
who,  having  given  his  life,  had  not 
lost  it  to  the  world. 

He  was  frail,  this  little  Amardo, 
but  he  borrowed  a  trowel,  and  loos- 
ened the  earth  about  the  stone  for 
some  space.  Painstakingly  then,  to 
protect  the  spot  he  hoped  to  culti- 
vate, he  drove  stakes  and  fastened 
across  them  clapboards  from  a  build- 
[6] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 
ing  which  was  being  torn  down  not 
far  away. 

He  begged  rich  earth  from  kindly 
neighbors  and  then  brought  vines 
from  the  woods.  The  first  ones  died, 
for  he  had  no  knowledge  of  time, 
season,  or  method  of  transplanting; 
the  second  died,  too,  for  the  weather 
was  dry  and  the  earth  parched. 

Then  one  day  he  found  some  roots 
which,  imbedded  in  moister  soil, 
yielded  themselves  more  willingly  to 
his  entreaties,  and  as  he  pulled  them, 
noting  how  the  roots  lay,  he  drew  all 
the  soil  he  could  with  the  stems,  and 
in  replanting  them  gave  moisture 
and  space  and  depth  to  taproots  and 
to  rootlets;  and  so  the  plants  lived. 

"More  life,"  said  Amardo,  as  the 
tendrils  came  shyly  forth,  "more 

m 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 
speech  1    The  stone  speaks;  the  vines, 
and  soon  the  flowers,  will  speak  of 
him  who  gave  his  life,  for  which  rea- 
son it  can  not  be  lost." 

Day  by  day  he  brought  water  for 
refreshing  the  earth;  and  there  one 
afternoon,  the  perspiration  pouring 
from  his  fragile  little  body,  the 
president  of  the  mill,  as  he  was 
speeding  away  from  the  stress  of 
business  to  the  green  of  the  country 
beyond,  found  him  hard  at  work. 

"What  are  you  doing,  son?"  he 
said,  bringing  his  car  to  a  standstill 
as  the  strange  little  figure,  straight- 
ening itself  from  its  stooping  posi- 
tion at  the  foot  of  the  crude  monu- 
ment, attracted  his  attention. 

"I'm  helping  him  to  speak,  and 
hunting  for  the  life  he  gave;  for,  be- 
[8] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

cause  he  gave  it,  somebody  or  some- 
thing has  it;  it  is  not  lost,"  he  replied, 
setting  down  the  water  bucket  from 
which  he  had  been  refreshing  the 
vines  which,  now  firmly  rooted,  were 
sending  forth  leaf  and  stem  reluc- 
tantly, but  none  the  less  surely. 

"The  mischief  you  are!"  said  the 
president.  "See  here,  son,  do  you 
want  to  elucidate  your  theory  from 
the  seat  of  this  motor  car?" 

Amardo  looked  doubtfully  at  the 
president.  He  did  not  know  what 
the  big  words  meant. 

"In  other  words,  do  you  want  to 
tell  me  what  you  mean  by  that 
speech  of  yours,  and  at  the  same 
time  take  a  spin  with  me  out  to  the 
Reformatory?" 

Amardo's  face  grew  radiant,  but 
[9] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 
he  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  water 
bucket. 

"Can  you  wait,  sir, — I'd  so  like  to 
go, — till  I  return  this  bucket?" 

"Oh,  let  it  stay  there.  It's  an  old 
thing,  and  by  the  way  trash  is  left 
about  here,  I  doubt  if  anyone  touches 
it." 

"Yes,  sir, — excuse  me,  sir,  but  it's 
borrowed,  and  it  seems  honester  to 
take  care  of  it." 

The  president  stared. 

"It  would  take  me  'most  ten  min- 
utes to  return  it." 

"Why  don't  you  say  a  minute?  I 
would  wait  for  you  a  minute." 

"Because  I  know  it  would  take 
longer  than  a  minute." 

"Does  that  make  any  difference?" 

"Why,  yes,  sir!  Don't  you  think 
it  does?" 

[10] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

"Well,  well!  It's  a  pity  to  lose  a 
ride  in  a  motor  car  just  for  the  sake 
of  returning  an  old  thing  like  that. 
Probably  the  lender  has  another  and 
will  never  miss  this  one." 

"That  isn't  anything  to  do  with  it 
to  me,  sir.  If  she  had  ten,  this  is  the 
one  I'm  responsible  for.  I'm  sorry," 
he  continued,  choking,  "for  I've 
never  ridden  in  an  automobile,  and 
it  looks  mighty  jolly;  but  I  thank 
you  for  asking  me." 

"I'm  sorry,  too.  Where  does  this 
woman  live?" 

"The  third  door  from  the  end  of 
the  block  on  the  left  upper  side,  near 
the  street  that  crosses  this,  sir." 

"Quite  a  walk  for  you.  Well, 
good-bye,"  and  the  president  rolled 
away,  tooting  his  horn  most  tantaliz- 
ingly  as  he  went. 

[11] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

Several  tears  rolled  straight  down 
from  Amardo's  eyes,  and  in  at  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  but  he  rubbed 
them  away.  His  task  of  watering 
finished,  he  started  back  to  Mrs. 
Raymond's  to  return  the  bucket. 
No  thought  of  deviating  from  his 
plan,  or  of  criticizing  the  president 
suggested  itself  to  him.  It  would 
have  been  easy  for  the  president  to 
turn  back  and  let  him  leave  the  uten- 
sil at  the  house,  but  it  never  occurred 
to  Amardo  to  blame  anyone  or  to  lay 
plans  for  the  president's  conduct, 
however  much  he  might  lay  them  for 
his  own. 

As  he  walked  wearily  and  disap- 
pointedly up  the  street  to  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond's, a  big  motor  car  came  whirl- 
ing round  the  corner  just  above,  and 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

drew  up  in  fine  form  in  front  of  the 
door  he  was  approaching, — and  lo, 
sitting  within  it,  was  the  president. 

"Hurry  up,  and  leave  your 
bucket/'  he  shouted  cheerily,  "and 
we  will  have  our  ride  yet." 

"Oh,  you  are  very  kind,"  choked 
Amardo,  though  the  choke  came  in 
a  different  place  this  time  somehow, 
and  did  not  hurt  as  it  had  when  the 
motor  car  left  him  by  the  monument 
a  minute  or  two  before;  but  it  was 
difficult  for  him  to  hurry  as  the  presi- 
dent directed,  for  the  wonder  of  the 
thing  almost  paralyzed  his  move- 
ments. It  was  really  but  a  minute, 
however,  before  he  was  seated  beside 
the  president  in  the  big  machine;  the 
horn  tooted  vigorously,  but  with  a 
personal  note  of  comradeship  and 
[13] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

friendliness  it  had  not   had   before, 
and  off  they  went. 


[14] 


CHAPTER    TWO 

"You  don't  expect  the  boys  will 
leave  that  little  fence  of  yours  there, 
do  you?"  said  the  president,  after  he 
had  let  Amardo  toot  the  horn  and 
even  put  his  hands  on  the  guiding 
wheel  of  the  motor  car. 

"Why,  yes.  They  all  know  Dick 
Trencheon  gave  his  life  for  another 
and  they  will  be  as  interested  as  I  in 
finding  what  has  become  of  it  and  in 
trying  to  hear  it  speak." 

"But  everybody  doesn't  think  of 
death  as  you  do,  yoti  queer  fellow. 
What  set  you  to  having  such  no- 
tions?" 

"I'm  supposed  to  be  dangerous," 
[15] 


YET   SPEAKETH   HE 

replied  Amardo,  a  trifle  whimsically; 
"so  they  won't  let  me  into  the  mill." 

"I  wish  to  God  they  wouldn't  let 
any  of  you  babies  in,"  muttered  the 
president  under  his  breath,  "but 
what  can  we  do  when  there  is  no 
compulsory  education  and  such  com- 
petition! So  you  have  time  to  fancy 
things,  do  you?"  again  speaking  to 
Amardo. 

"I  have  time  to  wonder"  replied 
Amardo,  "and  when  you  wonder 
very  much,  don't  you  think  you  like 
to  hunt  round  to  find  out  things?" 

"Do  you  ever  wonder  what  is  to 
become  of  you?  Are  you  afraid  to 
die?" 

"Why,  I  never  think  anything 
about  it.  I  heard  the  inspector  say 
I  was  dangerous,  and  it  made  me 

wonder." 

[16] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

"It  was  a  nut  to  crack.    Did  your 
wonder  help  you?" 

"Yes.  I  went  off  by  myself  and 
thought  of  all  the  dangerous  things 
I  knew  about,  so  as  to  find  out  what 
he  meant,  and  I  found  they  were 
most  all  big  things  worth  lots  in  the 
world.  There's  electricity;  that's 
dangerous,  but  it  does  pretty  much 
everything  these  days.  There's  fire; 
that's  dangerous,  but  it's  a  great 
help.  There's  the  canal"  (and  he 
shuddered  a  little) ;  "that's  danger- 
ous, but  I  heard  a  man  say  one  day 
that  it  was  the  making  of  the  city 
and  provided  livings  for  thousands. 
So  I  decided  that  my  being  danger- 
ous meant  I  was  good  for  too  much 
to  stay  in  the  mill.  You  could  turn 
it  that  way,  you  see,  couldn't  you?" 
[17] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

The  president  gasped. 

"The  only  thing  I  didn't  like  after 
I  had  decided  so  much  was,  that  peo- 
ple fear  dangerous  things,  and  I 
didn't  want  to  be  feared.  I  won- 
dered about  that  for  a  while,  but  then 
I  watched  and  made  up  my  mind 
that  people  didn't  fear  dangerous 
things  when  they  once  were  made 
to  understand  they  were  to  be  used 
right  The  district  nurse  was  tell- 
ing my  mother  one  day  that  even  the 
poisons  in  snakes  have  their  helpful 
uses.  The  thing  I  am  wondering 
about  now  is,  just  what  to  do  to  use 
the  things  in  me  that  might  be 
hurtful  or  frightening  if  I  don't  use 
than  right,  but  will  be  powerful  and 
helpful  like  electricity,  if  I  find  out 
what  to  do  with  them;  and  while  I'm 
[18] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

wondering  and  waiting  to  get  at 
what  I  want  to  know,  I  am  helping 
Dick  Trencheon  to  speak  through 
his  stone.  Stone  must  be  hard  to 
speak  through.  Shouldn't  you  think 
it  might  be  easier  to  speak  through 
vines  and  flowers  and  the  ideas  these 
things  put  into  the  hearts  of  those 
who  know  what  it  all  stands  for?  I 
am  going  to  try  to  get  the  boys  to 
wonder,  too,  for  the  more  they  won- 
der,— really  wonder,  you  know, — 
where  that  life  has  gone,  the  more 
life  will  be  in  them;  don't  you  think 
so?  Wondering,  with  a  determina- 
tion to  find  out,  it  seems  to  me,  makes 
you  feel  sort  of  alive,  just  in  itself." 
The  president  nearly  ran  into  a 
cow,  he  was  so  amazed  at  this  strange 
creature  beside  him. 
[19] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

"Who  has  been  talking  to  you?" 
he  asked  abruptly,  the  cow  having 
been  passed  in  safety. 

"No  one,  in  a  way;  but  you  see, 
Essie  died,  and  nobody  dies  belong- 
ing to  you  without  its  setting  you  to 
wondering." 

"Yes,  but  it  doesn't  bring  answers 
to  your  questions,"  said  the  president 
sadly. 

"Of  course  not.  YouVe  got  to  an- 
swer your  questions  yourself,  most 
generally.  You  wouldn't  want  any- 
body else  to  do  your  wondering  and 
finding  out  or  to  have  it  made  easy, 
any  more  than  you'd  want  anybody 
to  do  your  work  as  president  or  to 
make  it  so  easy  there  wouldn't  be 
any  fun  in  'tending  to  it." 

Then,  with  a  sudden  lapse  into 
[20] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

childish  vernacular,  bred  of  his  age 
and  his  surroundings,  and  which,  by 
its  contrast,  amazed  the  president 
nearly  as  much  as  the  boy's  philoso- 
phy had  done,  he  said  excitedly, 
"Please,  sir,  might  I  toot  the  horn 
just  once  again?  It  does  sound  so 
perfectly  beautiful." 


CHAPTER    THREE 

The  president  had  been  to  the  dis- 
trict nurse  and  to  Amardo's  mother 
and  to  the  best  physician  in  town, 
and  now  Amardo  slept  in  a  little  tent 
all  his  own.  He  lay  there  night  after 
night,  looking  out  into  the  wonderful 
Southern  sky,  limpid  with  moonlight 
and  scintillant  with  stars,  or  watching 
the  velvet  blackness,  palpitant  and 
luminous  with  the  strange  night 
light,  unrecognized  except  by  those 
eyes  that  see,  piled  depth  upon 
depth,  full  of  life  and  vibrant  with 
mystery. 

"How  still  it  is,  and  yet  it  seems 
alive  because  even  in  its  stillness  it 
[22] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

moves,"  said  Amardo.  "Why,  life 
is  motion,  and  if  everything  moves 
nothing  dies,  it  only  changes.  The 
form  of  Dick  Trencheon's  life 
changed  when  he  gave  it  up;  but  peo- 
ple say  a  life  is  lost  when  really  it  is 
just  showing  itself  differently.  Now 
the  puzzle  is,  to  find  how  and  where 
his  life  is  revealing  itself.  That  will 
be  hard  to  do,  perhaps,  but  if  I'm  de- 
termined to  hunt  it  out  I  shall  get  at 
it  sometime." 

He  was  made  by  the  nurse  and  the 
doctor  to  lead  rather  a  lazy  life  for  a 
while;  and  with  the  breezes  electrify- 
ing and  revitalizing  him  the  finer  es- 
sence of  life  bathed  him  also,  and 
everything  grew  more  intensely  in- 
teresting to  him  as  his  wonder  grew. 

He  appeared  at  the  mill  one  day 
and  asked  for  the  president. 
[23] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

"Howdy,  sonny,"  said  the  big 
man,  turning  in  his  swivel  chair  as 
the  office  door  opened.  "You  don't 
look  quite  so  peaked  as  you  did.  How 
does  that  happen?" 

"I  live  in  a  tent  now,  sir,"  said 
Amardo  happily,  "and  it's  lots  of 
fun.  I  used  to  see  things  in  the 
smoke  on  the  plaster  walls  in  the 
house,  but  now  I  can  lie  and  see  the 
great  pines  change  as  night  comes 
on;  and  I  see  the  dark  and  I 
see  the  light,  and  there's  as  much 
to  see  in  the  dark  as  in  the 
light,  if  you  only  know  how  to  look, 
sir, — and  more,  too,  I  think  some- 
times. I've  seen  life  since  I've  been 
out  there  alone  in  the  dark.  I  never 
saw  it  before.  I've  felt  it,  but  in  the 
dark  I  can  just  see  it  change  shape, 
[24] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

and  it  shows  me  that  I'm  not  to  look 
for  Dick  Trencheon's  life  as  I  saw  it 
in  him  or  to  hear  that  which  is  dead 
— or  changed — speak  in  the  same 
way  as  before,  for  death  and  life  are 
both  life.  Some  we  can  feel,  some 
we  can  hear,  some  we  can  see,  and 
some  we  can  only  know,  without  be- 
ing able  to  tell  just  how." 

"Boy,  where  do  you  get  these 
ideas?" 

"Out  of  my  mind,  sir,  and  the 
night  helps,  and  being  alone  helps. 
Maybe  that's  one  advantage  in  being 
dangerous,"  he  smiled.  "But,  Mr. 
President,  I've  come  to  ask  you  if 
you  will  let  me  clear  up  that  piece  of 
ground  outside  your  office  window; 
it  isn't  pretty  for  you  to  look  at." 

"Lord,  yes,  boy;  and  when  you 
[25] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

come  to  a  place  where  you  need  it, 
I'll  send  a  man  to  plow  it  up  for  you. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it, — 
put  in  flowers?" 

"No,  sir,  I  never  saw  anything  so 
beautiful  as  these  rows  of  vegetables 
in  the  picture  of  this  garden,"  and 
he  pulled  a  few  sheets  of  a  magazine 
from  his  pocket. 

"Where  did  you  get  that?" 
"I  picked  it  up  in  the  road.  I 
can't  bear  to  see  waste  paper  flying 
over  the  streets,  and  I  generally  pick 
up  pieces  I  see  blowing  about. 
Aren't  these  lovely?  Here's  great 
hedges  of  tomatoes.  I'd  like  to  get 
those  sorts  of  vines  and  train  them 
up  on  the  fence.  Aren't  those  big, 
handsome  things  as  pretty  as  roses? 
Then  I'd  like  to  make  a  row  of  ar- 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

bors  for  pin-headed  cucumbers  like 
these  here,  and  I  could  sit  and  think 
in  them  when  the  sun  was  too  hot  for 
me  to  be  in  the  garden.  I'd  plant 
onions,  too.  They  look  so  pretty 
waving  with  their  fluffy  white  blos- 
soms, and  the  smell  isn't  so  bad  if 
you  don't  mind.  I  would  lay  it  out 
like  a  picture  and  grow  pretty 
things  as  I  come  to  know  about  them, 
and  I  would  keep  it  clean  as  a  floor, 
like  this  garden  in  the  magazine; 
and  when  it  had  paid  for  the  seed 
and  what  else  I  had  to  have  to  run 
it,  I  would  give  their  life  to  change 
into  the  lives  of  those  who  need  food 
and  dainties." 

"You  would  give  their  lives? 
What  right  would  you  have  to  do 
that?" 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

"It  is  all  mixed  up  in  a  way,  sir. 
Perhaps  I  can't  explain.  But  Dick 
Trencheon  has  spoken  to  me  that  he 
has  changed  the  form  of  his  life,  and 
is  using  it  in  lots  of  places,  and  that 
all  our  life  goes  into  everyone  else's 
life.  For  instance,  some  of  his  life 
has  gone  into  me  to  make  me  desire 
other  things  to  live.  So  I  put  some 
of  my  life  into  them  so  they  can 
change  their  forms  and  mix  into 
other  people's  lives,  making  them 
stronger  or  brighter,  or  better, — oh, 
sir,  I  can't  explain;  but  life  doesn't 
stop." 

"No,  my  boy,  it  doesn't  stop,"  said 
the  president  soberly,  "and  you  shall 
have  what  help  I  can  give  you  in 
making  your  dream  garden  come 
true." 


CHAPTER    FOUR 

Amardo  sat  down  and  cried.  It 
looked  so  easy,  in  a  picture,  to  have 
vegetable  gardens  like  parlor  floors; 
and  Mr.  Stanten,  the  president,  had 
told  him  that  they  really  were  that 
way  in  other  places.  But  he  didn't 
even  know  how  to  clean  Up  the 
ground  so  it  looked  clean,  and  the 
colored  man  Mr.  Stanten  had  sent  in 
to  help  him  knew  still  less,  for  he  had 
neither  taste  nor  knowledge;  while 
Amardo  did  possess  intuitive  taste. 
If  he  only  had  the  strength  of  that 
stupid  black  man  he  was  sure  he 
could  make  things  like  his  picture. 
But  there!  he  had  neither  strength 


YET  SPEAKETH  HE 
nor  skill.  A  lot  he  saw  in  dreams 
he  was  sure  others,  older  and  wiser 
than  he,  had  dreamed  about  and 
worked  out  too,  if  he  could  only  meet 
with  some  of  them  who  could  and 
would  tell  him  how  to  go  on.  But 
the  strength!  the  strength!  he  had 
none!  and  he  flung  himself  upon  his 
face  and  cried  and  cried, — deep, 
gulping  sobs  that  shook  him  to  the 
depths  of  his  lungs.  In  the  midst  of 
it,  he  laughed. 

"I  am  glad  I  can  wonder  at 
things,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  knuck- 
les into  his  eyes,  "for  even  when  I 
feel  bad,  I  forget  it  in  wondering. 
Now,  I  am  wondering  if  that  crying 
spell  might  not  be  like  rain  to  the 
earth  and  make  ideas  grow  like  peas 
and  beans  do  in  the  ground.  Rain 
[30] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

storms  must  not  be  too  often  or  too 
violent,  though,  or  the  ideas,  like  the 
beans,  will  be  drowned  out.  After  a 
shower  like  that  I  ought  to  be  able 
to  make  some  sort  of  an  idea  shoot. 
It  takes  the  sunshine  after  the  rain, 
though,  to  make  leaves  sprout.  I 
will  wait  for  the  sunshine." 

He  sat  perfectly  still  on  a  wooden 
box  at  hand,  while  a  tiny  breeze 
played  about  him  lovingly.  The 
sunshine  came  in  a  few  minutes 
under  the  guise  of  Mr.  Stanten. 
From  his  office  window  he  had  seen 
the  cyclonic  outburst  succeeded  by 
the  calm,  and  his  interest  in  the  boy's 
quaint  ideas  made  him  curious  as  to 
what  the  child  was  evolving  out  of 
the  incident. 

"How  do  you  come  on,  Amardo?" 

he  said  cheerily. 

[31] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

"I'm  waiting  to  sprout  ideas,"  re- 
torted Amardo  soberly,  yet  with  a 
little  smile  of  amusement  behind  his 
eyes.  "Don't  anything  else  seem  to 
be  sprouting  here." 

"Speaking  of  ideas,  did  you  ever 
know  that  it  was  'the  whisper  of  an 
eternal  idea  that  broke  the  sceptre 
of  Rome  and  crushed  the  weight  of 
the  Caesars'?" 

"  'The  whisper  of  an  eternal  idea 

that ."  Amardo  tried  to  repeat 

but  could  stumble  no  farther  through 
the  labyrinth  of  unaccustomed 
words. 

"Remember  just  that  then, — don't 
try  to  recall  the  rest.  'The  whisper 
of  an  eternal  idea.' ' 

"What  idea?" 

"The  idea  that  you  ponder  over 
[32] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 
so  much, — the  giving  of  life.     You 
yourself  said  it  had  no  end." 

"But  how's  one  to  keep  it  agoing? 
Look  at  this  piece  of  ground.  It's 
cleaned  up  about  like  most  places 
round  here,  but  it  isn't  what  I've 
dreamed  about!" 

"If  it  is  as  good  as  the  rest,  why 
not  let  that  do?"  queried  the  presi- 
dent. 

"I  guess  not!  I  just  guess  not!  Do 
you  'spose  I  could  dream  and  see  in 
my  mind  that  beautiful  garden,  and 
then  come  out  here  and  see  this?  No 
sir!  Either  I'd  be  sick  and  disgusted 
at  what  I'm  trying  to  do  and  stop 
working  to  get  it,  or  little  by  little 
I'd  lose  my  picture  and  think  this  is 
what  I'd  been  dreaming  all  the  time. 
I've  gone  just  as  far  as  I  know  how, 
[33] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

and  that  man  doesn't  know  as  much 
as  I  do.  If  I  had  some  one  just  to 
give  me  the  least  hint  to  set  me  go- 
ing, not  so  much  on  ideas  as  how  to 
work  'em  out  p'raps — I  know — I 
could  do  something." 

"There  is  a  school,  not  like  these 
schools  we  have  here,  but  built  on 
purpose  to  help  boys  and  girls  like 
you  bring  their  visions  true — a  won- 
derful school  that  shows  you  how  to 
be  well  and  strong  and  gives  you  just 
the  knowledge  and  advice  you  want 
to  carry  out  your  plans.  Would 
you  like  to  go?  It  is  three  thousand 
miles  away,  across  the  continent." 

Amardo  caught  his  breath  and  was 
still. 

"I  love  my  mother,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Yes,  but  as  you  are  now,  she 
[34] 


YET  SPEAKETH  HE 
worries  night  and  day  about  you  and 
your  future.  If  you  love  her,  which 
will  be  the  better  way  to  show  your 
love:  to  stay  here  and  be  constantly 
on  her  heart  to  grieve  over,  or  to  be 
brave  and  go  away  from  her  that 
you  may  come  back  with  life  more 
abundant,  to  help  renew  in  her  some 
of  the  life  she  gave  in  bringing  you 
here?" 

There  was  perfect  silence  in  the 
bare  expanse  of  rugged  ground.  The 
president  watched  the  boy's  face.  At 
last  Amardo  lifted  it  and  looked  at 
the  president. 

"Love  hurts!"  he  said. 

The  president  bowed  his  head. 

"Often,  Amardo." 

"Life  hurts!" 

Again  the  president  nodded  with- 
out speaking. 

[35] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

"And  there's  no  way  to  get  rid  of 
it." 

The  president  slowly  shook  his 
head. 

"Even  if  you  give  it,  you've  got 
it.  If  you  give  it  for  another  or  to 
another,  it's  bound  to  be  reckoned 
with.  If  you  seem  to  lose  it,  it  only 
lies  in  waiting  for  you  to  come  up 
with  it  again." 

The  president  bowed. 

"But  love  can  follow  me.  It  can 
start  from  my  mother's  heart  and  go 
three  thousand  miles  with  me?" 

"Yes." 

"And  stay  with  me.  I  can't  lose 
it.  I've  got  it  whatever  happens. 
Love  and  Life!" 

"You  have." 

"Then,  Mr.  President,  I'll  go; 
[36] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

and  please,  sir,  I  know  you'll  excuse 
me  that  I  was  sad  before  I  remem- 
bered to  thank  you." 


[87] 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

Taken  into  the  loom  of  the  wise 
child  builder,  for  twelve  years  the 
beginnings  of  Amardo's  life  spun 
out  their  threads,  drawing  unex- 
pected material  from  the  storehouse 
of  his  mind  and  weaving  it  into  vis- 
ible form  with  his  body  mechanism, 
the  potentiality  of  which  constantly 
expanded  in  utility  and  accuracy  of 
transmission.  Then  he  went  into 
the  world,  without  money,  but  with 
the  equipment  of  a  symmetrically  un- 
folding brain,  transmitting  healthily 
and  accurately  the  power  of  his  mind 
to  desire,  the  power  to  will,  the  power 
to  create,  and  the  power  to  perform. 
[38] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

Enf ibred  in  his  very  being  was  the 
dream  of  the  garden,  which  years 
ago  he  had  found  pictured  in  the 
scrap  of  magazine  and  which  had  be- 
come the  rough  draught  of  the  broad 
and  exalted  vision  to  which  the 
dream  had  grown: — that  of  taking 
waste  places  and  liberating  their 
crushed  and  broken,  crowded,  strug- 
gling inmates,  be  they  plants  or  per- 
sons, as  he  himself  had  been  liber- 
ated at  the  crucial  moment  and  in- 
fused with  life  which  enabled  him  to 
grow  out  of  his  half  dead  embryo 
into  his  present  world  of  well  di- 
rected motive  and  attainment. 

His  equipment  easily  won  for  him 

the  position  of  landscape  gardener 

on  the  estate  of  a  multi-millionaire, 

whose  orders  were  to  excel  nature's 

[39] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

best  and  to  spare  not  in  the  spend- 
ing. 

"All  I  ask  is  results,"  said  the 
owner.  "Here  are  a  thousand  acres; 
and  don't  leave  a  half  dead  thing  on 
the  place, — plant  or  tree  or  animal 
or  man.  Get  them  out  of  the  way  at 
once  and  reinforce  from  the  best." 

"Let  me  try  with  what  I  find  at 
hand,"  he  said  pleadingly;  "it  can 
be  done,"  and  he  spoke  convincingly, 
as  he  had  spoken  when  at  twelve  he 
recognized  the  message  sent  him 
through  Dick  Trencheon's  monu- 
ment. "Mr.  Lamonte,  from  the 
bleeding  wounds  of  plants  and  chil- 
dren come  often,  in  time,  the  roots  of 
efficiency,  far  exceeding  in  intrinsic 
value  the  growth  of  the  present  fit." 
"Take  the  position  or  leave  it,"  said 
[40] 


YET  SPEAKETH  HE 
the  millionaire.  "I've  given  you  my 
bank  account  that  you  may  gather  in 
this  garden  types  only  from  the  best. 
I  want  this  place  to  be  a  world-wide 
marvel.  Let  the  scurf  die:  it  is  the 
law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  I 
want  a  show  place  and  not  an  asy- 
lum." 

"I  was  a  scurf  at  twelve,"  said 
Amardo;  "yet  you  have  chosen  me 
as  one  of  the  fittest  instruments  for 
realization  of  your  ideals!" 

"That  is  all  right,"  reiterated  La- 
monte,  "but  the  growth  of  the  world 
onward  and  upward  can  come  only 
by  propagating  from  the  best  stock. 
Let  the  trash  die.  Boy,  you  don't 
know  your  capabilities.  You  can't 
deal  with  inferior  stuff.  It  isn't  in 
you.  The  best  would  leap  from  the 
[41] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

worst  at  your  approach.  Think 
what,  with  such  power,  you  can  do 
with  selected  materials  and  ample 
funds  to  compel  conditions  most 
conducive  to  success." 

"The  best  is  often  unseen  and  in- 
tangible; and  as  for  life,  it  is  always 
built  on  so  called  wreckage  and 
death.  Even  the  physical  upbuild- 
ing of  the  earth  shows  that.  To  cast 
aside  the  broken  and  the  wounded 
will  be,  as  I  read  it,  to  fill  the  world 
with  strength  without  endurance  and 
a  sort  of  crass  beauty  without  soul." 

"And  while  you  are  nursing  these 
anaemic  pets  of  yours,  what  about 
the  best,  which  likewise  needs  your 
care  and  would  give  you  credit? 
Amardo,  you  must  destroy.  As  you 
yourself  said,  there  must  be  death  to 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

support  life;  and  to  force  the  strong 
to  give  place  to  the  weak  is  to  cause 
retrogression  in  nature.  I  offer  you 
any  sums  you  please  for  your  tests 
in  promoting  better  from  best.  It  is 
as  if  you  held  your  fortune  in  your 
hands  without  the  trouble  of  making 
it.  Your  investigations  will  give 
you  fame,  and  satisfy  to  any  extent 
your  scientific  curiosity.  Nobody 
will  give  you  a  cent  for  what  you 
want  to  do.  You  will  give  up  your 
life  for  a  chimera  and  to  what  end?" 
Amardo  went  away  thoughtfully. 
Must  he  deal  with  the  selected,  the 
best  in  life,  when  his  dream  had  been 
to  lay  his  hand  on  what  seemed  to  be 
the  death  of  things  and  say  to  them, 
Arise!  What  Mr.  Lamonte  had  said 
was  true.  He  must  have  money  for 
[43] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

the  fulfilment  of  his  dreams.  He 
saw  the  very  ragged  spot  of  ground 
where  he  wanted  his  vision  first  to 
become  reality,  —  acres  stretching 
back  from  the  canal  to  the  west  of 
Dick  Trencheon's  constant  call  to 
him — acres  scarcely  worth  paying 
taxes  on  but  close  to  the  hundreds 
who,  as  he  himself  had  done,  held  so 
feebly  to  life  and  knew  so  little  what 
to  do  with  it.  He  could  do,  there, 
for  those  children  what  the  master 
builder  of  children,  Macaire,  was 
doing  here  on  this  side  the  continent. 
He  would  go  at  once  to  fulfil  his  de- 
sire of  enabling  souls  better  to  mani- 
fest themselves  in  the  flesh. 

Then,  as  in  a  vision,  he  saw  him- 
self  sitting   in   the   ragged   bit   of 
ground  outside  the  president's  office 
[44] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

with  the  perfect  garden  nowhere  in 
sight  excepting  on  the  tumbled 
paper  in  his  hands.  Had  the  time 
come,  even  now,  when  he  had 
strength  and  skill  to  accomplish  his 
heart's  desire?  If  he  made  the  at- 
tempt, might  he  not  now,  as  then, 
face  the  fact  that  he  could  not  go  on 
because  he  was  not  ready? 

"Things  grow!  I  cannot  expect 
to  realize  at  once  my  heart's  desire 
any  more  than  I  anticipate  imme- 
diate results  from  the  seeds  I  plant. 
I  have  sprouted,  it  is  true,"  he 
laughed,  "but  I  am  only  half  grown 
yet,"  and  he  went  back  to  the  multi- 
millionaire who  desired  the  best  from 
the  best  the  world  can  give. 


[45] 


CHAPTER    SIX 

"It  is  the  old  story,"  he  said  whim- 
sically, as  he  neared  Mr.  Lamonte's; 
we  work  seven  years  for  Rachel  and 
then  generally  have  to  put  up  with 
Leah!  Seven  years  is  none  too  much 
to  wait  for  what  I  have  to  do.  Come 
to  think,"  he  stopped  abruptly,  "am 
I  waiting?  Here  in  my  garden  of 
emotions  I  have  several  inferior 
seeds  from  which  I  can  strive  to 
evolve  better  stuff  than  the  embryos 
promise.  Dissatisfaction  is  a  poison- 
ous weed.  Infuse  into  it  recognition 
of  the  truth  that  dealing  with  the 
best  will  fit  me  better  to  know  the 
world's  need,  and  evolving  the  plans 
[46] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

of  another  man  will  give  me  scope 
of  comprehension  which  I  could  not 
gain  otherwise.,  Let  me  see  if,  in- 
stead of  poison  berries,  I  can  bring 
this  seed  to  bear  sweet  sustenance  for 
the  world's  needs.  Waiting  for  my 
visions  to  materialize!  —  a  deadly 
seed  is  waiting,  with  fruit  that  shriv- 
els before  it  ripens!  This  seed  must 
be  inoculated  with  the  joy  of  present 
attainment  and  of  watching  results 
and  studying  them,  instead  of  wait- 
ing for  them.  A  half  dead  root  is 
the  manner  of  my  acceptance  of  this 
princely  opportunity.  I  must  trans- 
plant that  into  the  joy  corner  where 
the  sun  shines,  and  fertilize  it  with 
the  juices  of  enthusiasm." 

He  lingered  a  moment  on  the  hill- 
top in  the  light  of  the  descending 
[47] 


YET  SPEAKETH  HE 
sun  before  ascending  still  farther 
to  Mr.  Lamonte's  castle,  situated 
among  wooded  crags  and  overlook- 
ing water-fall  and  forest.  As  he 
stood  there,  the  strangely  luminous 
atmosphere  palpitating  in  the  blaze 
of  the  low  hanging  sun  vibrated 
about  the  head  of  the  sinewy  figure, 
embodiment  of  health  and  grace, 
and  seemed  to  assume  faint  shape  as 
of  a  dove  with  outspread  wings. 

Life  immanent  was  in  him  and 
about  him ;  and  as  he  looked  upon  the 
scene  of  beauty,  there  pulsed 
through  his  listening  soul  in  word- 
less music, — 

"This  is  my  beloved  Son,  in  whom 
I  am  well  pleased." 


[48] 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

As  Amardo  went  still  farther  up 
the  mountain  side,  he  overtook  a 
young  girl.  Her  habit  was  of  cor- 
duroy of  heaven's  blue,  and  long 
braids  of  golden  hair  fell  from  be- 
neath the  riding  hat.  They  had 
evidently  been  decorously  pinned  be- 
low its  brim  at  the  beginning  of  the 
trip,  but  had  tumbled  down  and 
reached  now  to  her  knees.  Her 
horse  stood  near  by;  but  the  girl  was 
sitting  by  the  path  and  weeping  bit- 
terly. 

"Miss  Lamonte,"  said  Amardo, 
hastening  forward,  "how  can  I  assist 
you?" 

[49] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

"  Oh,  you  are  Mr.  Monte,  are  you 
not  ?  Mr.  Monte,  a  snake  was  fas- 
cinating a  little  bird  and  I  chased  it 
away;  hut  the  poor  thing,  I  fear,  is 
dying  from  the  shock." 

Amardo  stooped  over  the  kindly 
hand  that  held  the  frightened  bird, 
and  together  the  young  man  and  the 
maid  watched  it,  while  the  flutterings 
of  the  little  creature  grew  fainter 
and  finally  ceased,  the  girl  sobbing 
violently  the  while. 

"Now  it  is  dead,"  she  mourned, 
when  at  last  it  lay  quiet  in  its  resting 
place,  "and  I  have  made  myself  so 
sick  I  cannot  go  to  an  important  din- 
ner tonight  and  have  lingered  here 
so  long  I  shall  be  too  late  for  my  vio- 
lin lesson." 

"The  roots  of  sympathy  and  of 
[50] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

obligation,"  said  Amardo  uncon- 
sciously aloud. 

"I  do  not  understand  what  you 
say,"  queried  the  girl  curiously,  for 
she  had  caught  the  words  but  not 
their  connection  with  what  had  been 
taking  place. 

"Pardon  me  if  I  do  not  repeat," 
said  Amardo,  embarrassed.  "It 
would  be  an  impertinence  to  ex- 
plain." 

"Never  mind!  Impertinence  is 
apt  to  be  so  much  more  interesting 
than  conventionalities  that  one  will- 
ingly forgives  a  taste  of  it, — if  not 
too  extreme,"  she  hastened  to  add, 
"and  I  know  yours  will  not  be." 

"It  really  would  take  so  much 
time,"  he  deprecated,  "and  it 
wouldn't  be  wise  to  begin  unless  I 
[51] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

could  bring  the  explanation  to  a 
conclusion  with  you." 

"I've  oceans  of  time,"  said  the 
girl,  guilelessly.  "The  sun  is  still 
high,  and  though  it  looks  rough  and 
wild  I  am  rather  close  to  the  house, 
you  know,  and  the  grounds  are  pa- 
trolled; so  I  am  perfectly  safe." 

"I  was  on  the  way  to  see  your  fa- 
ther." 

"He  won't  be  home  for  an  hour 
or  more.  He  told  me  so  as  he  passed 
me,  going  down  the  mountain  on 
horseback  not  long  ago, — so  we  need 
not  hurry;  and  as  you  are  going  to 
the  house  I  shall  have  escort.  We 
must  bury  this  poor  little  victim  be- 
fore we  leave  here,  anyway." 

An  almost  human  cry  of  pain  sud- 
denly broke  from  the  throat  of  the 
[52] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

gentle  thoroughbred,  and  both 
turned  to  discover  the  cause  of  his 
distress.  The  little  mistress,  in  her 
agony  over  the  bird,  had  carelessly 
tethered  the  horse  so  that,  step  which 
way  he  would,  his  hind  legs  came 
into  cruel  contact  with  a  bed  of 
cacti  whose  sharp  thorns  were  mak- 
ing havoc  with  his  comfort.  Already 
streams  of  blood  were  disfiguring  his 
handsome  coat  above  the  fetlocks; 
but  it  was  when  in  his  attempts  to 
free  himself  he  had  struck  farther 
back  into  a  higher  growth  and  felt 
the  attack  in  his  sensitive  flanks,  that 
he  called  appealingly  for  aid. 

"The  root  of  discrimination,"  said 
Amardo,  as  he  hastened  to  rescue  the 
beautiful  creature. 

"I  heard  what  you  said  that  time, 
[53] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

but  I  don't  in  the  least  understand. 
Please  explain,"  entreated  Murillio. 

"I  am  naming  over  seeds  and  roots 
for  my  garden." 

"A  very  strange  time  to  think  of 
them,  and  peculiar  names  for 
plants,"  persisted  the  girl,  taking  her 
handkerchief  and  wiping  the  blood 
from  the  glossy  leg  of  her  favorite. 
"Sympathy,  obligation  and  discrim- 
ination! No  such  flora  ever  existed, 
I  feel  very  sure.  Are  you  going  to 
put  them  in  my  father's  garden?" 

"No,  in  my  own.  Yes,  in  your 
father's,  also." 

"Father  told  me  the  place  was  to 
be  a  sort  of  botanical  garden  for  all 
the  flora  that  can  be  made  to  grow  in 
this  region.  Are  the  plants  indige- 
nous to  this  section?" 
[54] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

Amardo  laughed. 

"I  told  you  it  would  take  a  long 
time  to  explain  what  I  mean,  and  I 
cannot  do  it  all  in  one  conversation." 

"What's  to  prevent  your  talking 
to  me  again!  I  know  you  human 
beings,  evolved  into  god-men  by  that 
wonderful  educator,  Macaire,  always 
have  exordiums  and  perorations  and 
sequences  to  the  least  subject  in 
hand.  I'm  willing  to  give  you  lots 
of  chance  for  conversation,  that  you 
may  carry  your  premises  to  their 
conclusions  with  elephantine  dig- 
nity!" she  said,  looking  daringly  into 
his  eyes. 

The  young  man's  face  flooded. 

"I  am  only  too  willing  to  spin  out 
many  chapters  in  interpretation  of 
my  work,  but — I  am  only  your  f a- 
[55] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

ther's  workman,  Miss  Lamonte,  and 
it  won't  do  for  me  to  be  arranging 
Socratic  lectures  with  you  unless  he 
himself  includes  that  delightful  duty 
in  my  list  of  instructions." 

"Begin  Chapter  One,"  she  said 
impatiently.  "I  know,  fihe  present, 
ever  the  present'  is  one  of  your  spe- 
cial mantras  down  in  that  wonder- 
ful school;  and  here  you  are  consid- 
ering the  advisability  of  delivering  a 
course  to  extend  indefinitely  into 
futurity.  You  know  father  can't 
object  to  an  accidental  encounter 
like  this,  and  according  to  your  the- 
ories you  shouldn't  worry  over  any 
next  ones.  I  am  not  at  all  inclined 
to  believe  he  would  object  to  the 
course;  but  whatever  his  opinion,  I 
am  sure  he  would  remind  you  not 
[56] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

to  eat  all  the  plums  out  of  the  pud- 
ding at  one  mouthful.  Now  all  this 
time  you  are  floating  in  an  aeroplane. 
It  is  time  to  land.  What  do  you 
mean?" 

Her  eyes  flashed  into  his  with  win- 
some imperiousness  and  an  adorable 
charm. 

So  he  told  her  all  about  things 
from  the  days  of  Dick  Trencheon's 
heroism  and  the  president's  kindness 
and  his  training  with  wonderful 
Professor  Macaire,  on  to  the  present; 
of  his  attitude  towards  all  things 
suffering;  of  his  disappointment 
that  he  could  not  at  once  leap  to  the 
heart  of  his  desire;  and  of  his  deter- 
mination to  cultivate  still  more  care- 
fully the  garden  of  his  emotions,  as 
the  Professor  so  impressed  upon  his 
[57] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 
pupils  to  do;  and  to  plant  in  his 
character  seeds  he  would  need  in  his 
equipment  for  greater  things. 

"Why  did  you  say  obligation  and 
sympathy,  when  I  saw  I  had  cried 
myself  ill  and  missed  my  engage- 
ment?" 

"Because,  while  we  are  using  our 
capabilities  in  bringing  health  to  the 
bruised,  our  sympathies  may  prove 
vampires  and  suck  our  own  lives. 
They  must  be  trained  to  bring  ful- 
ness of  life,  rather  than  depletion,  to 
ourselves  and  others.  Moreover, 
sympathy  should  never  be  allowed  so 
to  control  us  that  we  forget  or  neg- 
lect obligations  in  honor  made  and 
dim  the  vision  of  discrimination, — " 

"I  see,"  interrupted  Murillio  eag- 
erly.   "I  grieved  over  the  bird,  which 
[58] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

really  was  beyond  my  responsibility, 
and  so  upset  myself  that  I  felt  I 
could  not  keep  an  engagement  made 
in  good  faith.  I  disturbed  the  plans 
of  a  good  many  persons,  didn't  I,  by 
doing  that,  and  did  injury  to  myself, 
a  human  being,  by  releasing  grief 
poisons  with  no  advantageous  results 
to  balance  the  injury?  In  not  ful- 
filling my  obligations  I  was  guilty  of 
a  moral  dereliction,  and  overlooked 
in  my  intemperate  distress  over  the 
bird,  for  which  I  was  not  responsible, 
the  distress  of  my  own  horse,  which 
deserved  from  me  at  least  humane 
watch  care.  Here  comes  father  over 
the  incline;  and  about  your  anaemic 
pets,  as  he  calls  them, — the  kind  he 
won't  have  in  his  garden — I  have  a 
scheme !" 

[59] 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

"  I  like  the  naive  impudence  of 
that  landscape  gardener  of  yours, 
papa,"  said  Murillio  to  her  father 
that  night  at  dinner.  "He  overtook 
me  on  the  bridle  path  and  tabulated 
my  attributes  for  future  evolution  in 
a  most  impersonal  way.  I  felt  at 
first  as  if  invited  by  the  anatomy 
professor  to  study  bones  with  the  as- 
sistance of  my  own  skeleton.  The 
attributes  to  be  considered  were  not 
my  beauty,  grace  and  charm:  they 
were  moral  ones  which  seemed  called 
to  his  attention  rather  by  their  ab- 
sence than  their  dazzling  presence; 
and  he  planted  a  garden  with  them 

in  his  mind!" 

[60] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

"Yes,"  returned  Mr.  Lamonte, 
"he  longs  to  plant  a  garden  of  some 
sort  with  queer  things.  I  am  very 
glad  he  has  found  one  in  the  confines 
of  his  own  self  to  experiment  in,  in- 
stead of  in  my  garden." 

"I  have  suggested  that  he  give  me 
a  course  of  lectures  in  which  to  de- 
scribe his  ideas  to  me;  but  he  said 
you  might  object.  He  even  seemed 
to  think  it  wasn't  the  correct  thing  to 
stop  to  talk  with  me,  then;  but  I  de- 
tained him  on  the  flimsy  pretext  that 
I  needed  an  escort." 

"Why  did  he  think  I  would  object 
to  his  talking  with  you?" 

"He  said  he  was  your  workman." 

"  You  may  inform  Amardo  Monte 
that  I  may  be  rich  but  that  I  am  not 
a  snob,"  responded  Mr.  Lamonte. 
[61] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

"Talk  with  him  all  you  please;  he's 
a  fine  man." 

"He  told  me  all  about  himself, 
and  his  longing  to  help  the  wounded 
of  body  and  of  heart.  Have  you 
ever  noticed,  father,  that  love  for  the 
unfortunate  is  so  apt  to  breed  antag- 
onism toward  the  fortunate?  He 
had  really  been  thinking  he  was  quite 
condescending  to  deal  with  types 
from  the  best  only." 

"That's  the  world's  idea,  and  its 
image,  though  nearly  effaced  from 
his  brain,  still  leaves  a  faint  impress, 
—but  he  knows  better/'  said  Mr. 
Lamonte.  "The  images  growing 
through  these  twelve  years  of  life 
with  Macaire  will  be  thoroughly  es- 
tablished now  he  can  manifest  them 
without  restriction." 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

"I  myself  wotild  better  love  to 
help  the  weak  than  the  strong.  The 
strong  are  self -sufficing." 

"That  they  are  not.  Everything 
needs  bolstering,  and  the  greater  the 
subject  the  stronger  and  mightier 
must  be  the  props." 

"You  wouldn't  object,  father,  if  I 
were  to  take  up  that  work,  would 
you?" 

"No  indeed.  But  to  have  my  full 
and  unqualified  consent  to  the  plan, 
you  will  have  to  learn  how  to  do  it. 
I  don't  want  you  doddering  about 
adding  to  the  incapables,  making 
paupers,  and  assisting  in  the  propa- 
gation of  criminals  and  imbeciles 
through  ill-advised  charity.  That  is 
what  many  of  the  hospitals  and  char- 
itable institutions  are  doing  today. 
[W] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

But  if  you  can  hunt  out  of  the  waste 
places  any  more  such  stuff  as  Stan- 
ten  did  when  he  sent  that  little  runt 
to  Macaire's  school  twelve  years  ago, 
go  on,  and  God  bless  you." 

"I  should  like  to  take  a  normal 
course  in  that  same  school." 

"You  may  if  you  please.  But 
don't  bring  any  test  cases  into  my 
garden.  They  must  be  proven  which 
enter  there, — men  and  plants." 

Mr.  Lamonte  gave  his  daughter's 
rose-leaf  cheek  a  tender  caress  as  he 
passed  her,  looking  deep  down  into 
the  eyes  she  raised  lovingly  to  his. 
Then,  as  he  flung  himself  astride  his 
horse  and  clattered  down  the  moun- 
tain road,  he  straightened  his  should- 
ers as  if  he  had  settled  a  question  be- 
yond a  doubt. 

[64] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

"Yes,"  he  said  aloud  to  the  cres- 
cent moon  in  its  first  quarter,  peep- 
ing at  him  through  trees,  "yes,  I'm 
willing.  He  is  a  fine  fellow, — one 
of  the  best." 


[65] 


CHAPTER  NINE 

The  seasons  and  the  years  wove 
out  in  turn  fabrics  of  the  world's 
growth;  for  Murillio  and  Amardo, 
seven  joyous  years  of  watching  and 
of  attaining.  The  great  spaces  of 
land  had  been  cleared  and,  like  a 
canvas,  spread  before  Amardo.  He 
was  to  put  in  his  picture,  not  with 
paints,  but  with  living  things, — 
made  things,  which  he  had  only  to 
group  picturesquely  and  toss  aside 
when  they  did  not  fulfil  his  purpose 
in  the  general  effect.  Full-grown 
trees  were  transplanted  by  night 
into  their  new  surroundings,  which  as 
far  as  possible  were  made  to  idealize 
[66] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

native  conditions.  Fruits,  flowers, 
vegetables  and  trees  found  place  in 
this  wonderful  garden;  and  with 
his  testing  stations  in  charge  of  the 
most  experienced  scientists  of  the 
world,  each  year  found  the  fruits 
larger  and  more  extraordinary,  the 
vegetables  more  immense,  and  the 
flowers  more  ornate.  Each  season 
thousands  of  incapables  were  carted 
away  without  an  attempt  to  retain 
them;  the  moment  they  showed  signs 
of  drooping  they  were  replaced  by 
others.  The  forced  growth  of  these 
seven  years  did  what  decades  had 
not  done;  and  the  place  was  riotous 
with  size  and  ablaze  with  color. 

Meanwhile  Murillio  had  taken  up 
with  earnest  enthusiasm  the  course  at 
Macaire's  famous  school.     Day  by 
[67] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

day  she  was  instructed  in  transmut- 
ing, without  self  depletion,  tender- 
ness and  compassion  into  helpfulness 
for  those  who  suffer  or  whose  lives 
are  abridged  through  birth  or  cir- 
cumstance. 

It  was  wonderful  how  soon  Mu- 
rillio,  emotional  though  she  was, 
learned,  without  in  any  sense  losing 
her  tenderness,  to  see  the  impersonal 
or  the  universal  in  the  experiences 
brought  before  her,  and  to  teach 
those  who  were  broken  or  incapa- 
citated to  send  from  awakened  life- 
centres  the  essence  of  vitality  through 
the  heretofore  enervated  nerves  and 
emaciated  muscles  and  to  infuse  them 
with  manifest  health  and  consequent 
desire  and  will  to  construct,  as  well 
as  the  physical  and  mental  power  to 

perform. 

[68] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

With  each  deeper  initiation  into 
the  sentient  Oneness  of  all  the  more 
lovingly  personal  did  she  seem. 
Heretofore,  the  pain  belonging  to 
another  had  enclosed  her  and  incor- 
porated itself  into  her  being,  to  the 
detriment  of  her  bodily  tissues  and 
to  the  incapacitating  of  her  willing 
but  paralyzed  mentality  and  the  an- 
guish of  her  soul.  In  truth,  the  less 
she  affiliated  to  herself  their  failures, 
sorrows,  and  depletion,  the  more 
others  felt  her  strength  and  helpful- 
ness. 

The  school  was  near  Mr.  La- 
monte's;  and  though  Murillio's  work 
held  her  in  the  institution,  she  was 
often  at  home.  Then,  in  habit  of 
heaven's  blue,  she  would  ride  on  her 
thoroughbred  to  the  garden  and 
[69] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

talk  with  Amardo  about  the  vital 
issues  of  their  lives.  After  they  had 
been  through  the  magnificent,  stately 
spaces  full  of  perfection,  being  per- 
fected, they  both  would  mount  and 
together  disappear  down  the  road 
towards  the  afternoon  sun,  leaving 
behind  them  a  dust  like  red  gold  pul- 
verized and  suspended  in  the  air, 
through  which,  as  if  caught  up  in 
clouds  of  fire,  floated  Murillio  in  her 
habit  of  blue  and  Amardo  with  sin- 
ewy form,  while  the  bronze  of  the 
horses'  glossy  sides  reflected  a  cop- 
pery iridescence  as  they  sped  along. 
Then  Mr.  Lamonte  would  look 
after  them  and  smile  and  ride 
through  the  great  garden,  aglow 
with  satisfaction  as  he  watched  the 
large  grow  larger  and  the  richly  col- 
ored become  more  brilliant  still. 
[70] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

But  as  the  years  passed,  the  atti- 
tude of  complete  satisfaction  at  this 
monumental  work  changed  and  his 
face  wore  a  puzzled  look.  What  was 
it  he  missed?  Whatever  the  unknown 
thing  was,  its  absence  made  him  sigh 
with  a  sense  of  desolation  in  the 
midst  of  magnificence,  and  a  feeling 
of  loneliness  that  made  him  shudder. 
Nothing  in  that  vast  expanse  seemed 
to  answer  to  his  moods,  to  rejoice 
with  his  happiness;  nothing  seemed 
capable  of  joy,  for  nothing  seemed  to 
know  sorrow.  No  broken  sapling 
needed  his  assistance  back  to  life  and 
health,  for  if  perchance  one  were 
wounded,  it  was  dug  up  and  cast 
aside.  No  trampled  rose  lay  hi  his 
path  to  call  forth  tender  impulses. 
Nothing  needed  his  sympathy. 

' 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

One  day,  with  a  heart-breaking 
sense  of  some  great  loss,  he  followed 
the  two  riders  as  they  rode  on 
towards  the  west.  He  came  up  with 
them  after  a  while  and  galloped  to 
their  side. 

"May  I  ride  with  you,  children?" 
he  said  wistfully.  "Somehow  I  need 
brightness  about  me  today." 

"Most  gladly,  father,"  said  Mu- 
rillio;  "but  do  you  not  find  bright- 
ness enough  to  inspire  you  in  that 
wonderful  garden?" 

"That  is  not  brightness,"  sighed 
the  millionaire;  "it  is  glare!" 

"Then  can  you  not  seek  the 
shade?" 

"There  is  no  shade,"  shuddered  the 
father;  "it  is  gloom, — dense  Stygian 
gloom!" 

[W] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 
"Everything     is     succeeding     so 
well,  father;  all  is  growing  so  mag- 
nificently." 

"Magnificent!  It  is  becoming 
monstrous!  And  something  I  used 
to  find  in  woodlands  is  not  there.  I 
miss  it,  but  cannot  tell  what  it  is. 
Ah!  It  comes  to  me  now,"  and  he 
drew  in  his  horse  suddenly,  threw 
up  his  head,  dilated  his  nostrils,  and 
sniffed  the  air. 

They  rode  on  now  over  a  tangled 
bridle  path,  the  horses'  hoofs  strik- 
ing and  bruising  the  sweet  briar  by 
the  way.  Murillio  and  Amardo  did 
not  speak.  The  something  grew 
upon  them  all, — impalpable,  yet  tan- 
gible. Life  grew  glad  within  the 
tired  man's  heart;  memories  stirred, 
which,  though  they  brought  a  pang, 
brought  yet  a  joy. 

[73] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

"What  is  it?"  said  Lamonte,  still 
puzzled.  "It  is  bringing  back  to  me 
a  sense  of  life.  I  began  to  feel  stag- 
nated in  the  midst  of  motion,  desper- 
ate in  the  midst  of  success,  desolate 
in  the  midst  of  things" 

They  now  dismounted  and, 
Amardo  leading,  they  entered  a 
space  where,  massed  in  natural  pro- 
fusion, were  plants  in  bloom;  and 
the  wonder  grew. 

"I  have  it,"  cried  Lamonte.  "It  is 
the  odor  of  sweet  flowers.  Amardo, 
your  boasted  garden  has  no  odors. 
It  is  arrogant  and  superior  and 
SOULLESS.  It  rouses  no  aspirations 
as  I  look  upon  its  flowers  and  gaze 
into  the  sinister  gloom  of  those  mam- 
moth trees.  The  sweetness  of  this 
garden  recalls  to  me  life  with  its 
[74] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

loves  and  its  experiences, — the  ten- 
der sorrows, — the  tragedies  of  life, 
as  well  as  its  happiness  and  its  joys." 

They  entered  now  an  expanse  that 
seemed  like  an  immense  grotto 
floored  and  arched  with  flowers. 
Masses  of  natural  blooms  fell  fleecy 
and  cloudlike  from  hidden  supports 
high  in  the  air,  or  like  living  stalac- 
tites drooped  to  kiss  the  blossoms 
that  like  flower  stalagmites  rose  from 
earth  to  meet  them.  The  air  was 
filled  with  etherial  fragrance  of  such 
sort  as  called  forth  sentiments  of 
love  of  most  celestial  type  in  the 
hearts  of  all.  Birds  jubilant  with 
the  joy  of  it  sang  to  the  atmosphere 
of  blessedness  exuding  from  the 
heart  of  every  bloom. 

"Why  have  you  done  nothing  of 
[W] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

this  sort  for  me,  Amardo?"  said  La- 
monte,  turning  to  the  man  who  stood 
beside  him. 

"These  are  the  heart-broken 
things  you  bade  me  cart  away,"  said 
Amardo  simply.  The  odor  which 
first  brought  back  to  you  the  sense 
of  comradeship  and  love  that  you 
felt  slipping  from  you  was  the  sweet 
briar  we  were  crushing  under  foot. 
That  plant  that  sends  forth  such 
wealth  of  odor  was  broken  by  a 
wagon's  wheel  and  bled  almost  unto 
death.  It  was  a  cruel  sight  to  see 
when  I  took  it  from  your  garden, 
Mr.  Lamonte.  This  root  was  torn 
in  half  when  it  was  moved  from  its 
place  of  birth.  I  brought  it  here 
with  scarce  a  chance  for  life.  This 
was  blown  by  the  winds  till  it  was 
[76] 


YET    SPEAKETH   HE 

crooked  and  misshapen,  and  was  cut 
down  and  stamped  all  but  to  death; 
but  I  brought  it  here,  and  see  its  blos- 
soms and  note  its  fragrance." 

"But  there  are  no  birds  in  my  gar- 
den," said  Lamonte. 

"We  cannot  allow  the  plants  to  be 
crossed,  so  no  birds  or  bees  or  winged 
things  may  enter  there:  neither  do 
they  care  to  come,  for  the  highly 
bred  flowers  which  grow  so  large  and 
beautiful  have  lost  in  corresponding 
degree  their  odor,  which  is  the  ex- 
pressed essence  of  their  comradeship 
with  the  rest  of  the  nature  world." 

"Who  cares  for  this  place?  Evi- 
dently some  one  who  loves  it." 

Murillio  blew  on  a  silver  whistle 
and  from  different  parts  of  the  gar- 
den came  its  caretakers, — little  boys 
[77] 


YET  SPEAKETH  HE 
and  girls  and  women  and  men  whose 
faces  and  bodies,  marked  with  the 
suffering  of  great  experiences,  car- 
ried through  all  the  atmosphere  of 
blessedness. 

"These  are  the  children  of  my 
heart,  father,  and  I  have  brought 
them  here  with  sickness  in  their 
bodies  and  in  their  hearts  to  revital- 
ize these  dying  plants;  and  so  doing, 
they  are  being  revitalized  and  re- 
formed." 

"The  essence  of  life  is  coming  back 
to  me,"  said  Lamonte;  and  he  threw 
himself  upon  the  ground  and  wept. 
When  he  lifted  his  face  it  shone  as 
with  a  great  joy. 


[78] 


CHAPTER  TEN 

"I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have 
done  without  the  blessedness  of 
your  'scheme,'  evolved  from  your 
sense  of  my  needs  the  day  I  met  you 
on  the  mountain  side,"  said  Amardo 
to  Murillio  as  they  wandered  alone, 
the  next  day,  in  the  garden  built  of 
their  love.  "In  that  terrible  and 
beautiful  garden  where  emotion  is 
stifled  and  sympathy  non-existent  I 
believe  I  should  have  gone  insane, 
had  I  not  been  able  to  pour  out  here 
my  yearnings  over  life." 

"Yes,  emotions  are  messengers  of 
the  soul  to  be  guided  into  pure  and 
noble  spaces,  not  to  be  destroyed," 
replied  Murillio. 

[79] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then 
Amardo  spoke. 

"I  know  a  ragged  waste  of  life 
and  land  that  needs  us.  It  is  across 
the  mountains,  almost  over  to  the 
other  sea.  Will  you  go  with  me, 
Murillio?" 

Again  there  was  stillness,  vibrant 
with  the  spirit  of  love.  Then  Mu- 
rillio spoke. 

"Yes,  Amardo,  I  will  go." 


[80] 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN 

Twice  seven  years  again  had 
woven  the  fabric  of  life  in  their 
looms.  The  door  of  President  Stan- 
ten's  office  opened.  The  president 
turned  as  of  yore  in  his  swivel  chair. 

"Howdy,  sonny,"  he  said  cheerily. 
"How  you  come  on!" 

"Mr.  President,"  returned  Amar- 
do,  "I've  come  to  ask  you  if  you  will 
let  me  clean  up  that  piece  of  ground 
outside  your  office  window?  It  isn't 
pretty  for  you  to  look  at." 

The  president  laughed  joyously, 
and  rising  seized  both  Amardo's 
hands. 

"Boy,  life  is  a  great  thing  when 
[81] 


YET  SPEAKETH  HE 
bodies  can  be  apart  for  thirty  years, 
and  souls  keep  hold  of  the  threads 
without  ever  dropping  them.  And 
to  think  of  it!  The  garden  out- 
side my  window  is  just  about  where 
you  left  it.  Perhaps  the  same  box  is 
there  that  you  sat  on  waiting  for 
ideas  to  sprout,  who  knows." 


[82] 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

And  still  the  years  wove  the  fabric 
of  events  by  which  life  is  manifested. 
The  vast  expanse  of  ragged  land  to 
the  west  of  Dick  Treneheon's  monu- 
ment was  now  a  great  college  of  agri- 
culture and  applied  arts.  Gardens 
spread  over  rich  and  arable  land  in- 
stead of  dying  on  lifeless  soil.  Boys 
and  girls  came  here  and  were  infused 
with  new  vitality  and  knowledge  of 
how  to  handle  it. 

President  Stanten,  Mr.  Lamonte, 
Murillio  and  Amardo  were  on  the 
roof  of  one  of  the  buildings  watching 
the  great  field  of  industry  spread 
below. 

[83] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

"It  is  better  than  my  garden, 
Amardo,"  said  Mr.  Lamonte  at  last. 
"Perfection  with  coldness  of  heart  is 
not  possible.  Life  manifest  must  be 
like  the  face  of  the  earth,  fed  with 
rivers  of  mercy." 

The  red  sun  blazed  behind  them, 
sinking  to  its  rest.  Its  slanting  rays 
fell  on  Dick  Trencheon's  monument, 
which,  backed  by  vines,  stood  like  a 
sentinel  at  the  gateway.  The  eyes  of 
all  turned  toward  the  blunt,  strange 
stone. 

"Have  you  found  his  life  yet, 
Amardo?"  said  Mr.  Stanten  rever- 
ently. 

"Yes,   I  find  it  still  holding  its 

identity  but  in  constant  expansion, 

inseparably  linked  with  all  of  ours 

and     enfibred     with     them,"     said 

[84] 


YET    SPEAKETH    HE 

Amardo  tenderly.  "Life  and  death 
are  manifest  phases  of  the  one  great 
Spirit  which  is  moving  in  and  among 
us  all." 

"And  as  you  once  said,  it  doesn't 
stop,  my  hoy,"  said  the  old  man.  It 
goes  right  on.  It  doesn't  stop. 
Who  can  doubt  the  continuity  and 
recognizance  of  life  and  its  con- 
stantly unfolding  blessedness,  when 
every  one  of  the  thousands  whom  the 
influence  of  his  deed  has  touched  and 
changed  gives  demonstration  of 
"That,  which  being  dead,  still 
speaks/'  YET  SPEAKETH  HE! 


[85] 


YC  53525 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


